


The Dagger of Discord

by Tenebrielle



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Boys Will Be Boys, Friendship, Gen, Humor, One-Shot, one-shot challenge, retelling of myth, sif is a bamf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-25
Updated: 2014-02-25
Packaged: 2018-01-13 17:42:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1235380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tenebrielle/pseuds/Tenebrielle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Warriors Three are all great warriors, but who is the greatest of them all? Or, a retelling of the myth of the Apple of Discord, Asgardian-style.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dagger of Discord

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Same Prompt one-shot challenge at The Beta Branch. The prompt was: trouble is my business.

The dagger lay on the table, its curved golden blade gleaming seductively in the late afternoon light. It was curious indeed to find such a fine weapon sitting unattended, even in the safety of the chambers belonging to the Warriors Three.

“Thor’s, perhaps?” Volstagg said, gesturing with a fat finger to the crimson leather-wrapped hilt.    

Fandral rolled his eyes. “ _Thor_ would not use such a…decorative blade,” he scoffed. “It is finely made, though.” He reached for the dagger, but Hogun beat him to it.

He peered down the length of the golden blade with critical eye. “The make is Asgardian,” Hogun observed. He hefted it experimentally. “Delicate for an Asgardian weapon. I find no maker’s mark.”

Hogun flipped the dagger upward by the blade with an expert flick of his wrist, intending to flip it around and catch it by the hilt. Fandral’s leather-gloved hand shot out and snatched it out of the air. Hogun glared after him as the swashbuckler strolled to the opposite side of the table. Fandral merely smirked.

“Really, you think to read the blade _before_ the label?” he asked, twirling the dagger with a flourish and pointing at the golden letters embossed into the leather. Volstagg chuckled, while Hogun’s lips drew into a fine line at the jovial criticism.

“ _To the greatest warrior_ ,” Volstagg read aloud, crouching slightly to read. He glanced up at Fandral. “Well, that’s helpful, isn’t it?”

“Yet there is only one dagger,” Hogun observed. The others looked at him quizzically. “And we are three,” he amended.

Volstagg frowned in thought, the expression nearly lost in his vast curling beard. “Surely this is some mistake.”

“These are our chambers,” Fandral said. “Everyone knows. Clearly it was left for us.”

“We are the three greatest warriors in Asgard,” Hogun added.

Fandral tipped a finger in his direction. “That too.”

Volstagg’s frown deepened; he was still unconvinced. Three pairs of eyes drifted to the golden dagger clutched in Fandral’s hand. There was an odd quality about it, a sort of a seductive shimmer, which made it difficult to look away. The words _greatest warrior_ stood out in increasingly sharp relief the longer their eyes seemed to settle on the hilt.

Fandral blinked first. He cocked his head slightly to one side and nonchalantly reached up to twist the end of his mustache. “We remain two daggers short,” he observed dryly.

Suddenly the air was electric with competition. Volstagg took a step closer to Fandral, who immediately fell back a pace. His boots fell into an _en garde_. Hogun’s hands came up slightly, into what would have been a defensive position if he had anything to defend.

“Give it here, Fandral,” Volstagg said sternly, folding his arms over his great belly.

“Why?” Fandral needled, edging towards the door and escape. “What makes _you_ a greater warrior than I, other than size?”

Volstagg’s eyes narrowed and he moved to block the swordsman.   Hogun retreated a pace, so he was out of the way. Volstagg would do his work for him if he was patient.

Fandral struck a mock-dashing pose and made a great show of re-reading the words on the dagger’s hilt. “It says greatest warrior, not greatest _girth_!”

Volstagg bellowed at the insult and lunged after him. He was quicker than he looked, but they all trained together and the swordsman knew the length of his reach as well as Volstagg did himself. Fandral danced back nimbly out of his range, laughing at his frustrated curses, as the other warrior pursued him around the table. Hogun watched his footwork and chose his moment carefully. While the swordsman was distracted by Volstagg’s grasping arms, Hogun put one boot behind his rear foot and snaked his toe around Fandral’s ankle. Fandral yelped with surprise as he fell. He threw out his free hand to catch himself, holding the dagger above his head with the other to keep it away from his body. Hogun took it easily from his hand.

“Surely the greatest warrior would be able to keep hold of his weapon,” Hogun told him, the suggestion of a smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth.

“Betrayed by you, by Hel!” Fandral exclaimed. He rose to a crouch and began to dust his clothes off. His theatrics fooled no one. Fandral had just decided to attempt to tackle Hogun about his legs and was about to spring when Volstagg cut him off. He spread his hands diplomatically, cuffing the side of Fandral’s head in the process and sending the swordsman sprawling again.

“Friend Hogun,” Volstagg started, a little out of breath, while Fandral swore and picked himself up. Hogun was as fierce a warrior as any, but he had not Fandral’s speed, and Volstagg knew it. So did Hogun.

“Friend Volstagg,” he interrupted, stepping carefully back and to the side, so that the table was between himself and the huge man. Volstagg scowled. His greater strength would be of no use if he could not _reach_ Hogun.

“Oh and I suppose he thinks _he’s_ the greatest now,” Fandral remarked sourly from the relative safety of behind Volstagg’s back. Surely he could outwit the great oaf once Hogun was out of the way. He wagged a finger at Hogun. “Greatest, not grimmest, my friend. Now hand it over.”

“Nor does it mean the greatest flirt!” Volstagg snapped at him, but Fandral was unabashed and simply mock-bowed at the insult.

“Indeed I am called the Grim,” Hogun interjected, drawing both warriors’ attention. “I have fought, and won, more battles than you shall ever see, swordsman.”

Volstagg’s eyes lit up. “If the greatest warrior is the one who has seen the most battle, then it is I. I have twice your years, Fandral, and a good many more than you, Hogun.”

“He has a point,” Fandral observed with a theatrical shrug. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Volstagg move. He followed suit, now an ally of necessity, and together they encroached on Hogun from opposite directions. Hogun’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, and he kept looking between them as if trying to decide who the greater threat was. He backed away, towards a bench where their weapons lay carelessly.

“You cannot argue that my strength has no comparison!” Volstagg crowed.

Fandral rolled his eyes. “Yes, but what is your strength without speed?” he scoffed. “I could poke you full of holes, old man, before you could raise your axe!”

“You could, could you?” Volstagg growled, glowering at Fandral over Hogun’s shoulder. “Try it someday, and I’ll crack that skull for you!”

“What of strength and speed without _my_ discipline?” Hogun said. He stopped in a near crouch, all his muscles tensed for action. “Your years have not taught you restraint, Volstagg. Nor you, Fandral.”

He glanced to their weapons. Fandral and Volstagg’s eyes quickly followed. The tension in the room soared higher. No one had drawn steel in anger yet, but it suddenly occurred to all of them at once that they _could_. The golden dagger gleamed, bright and eminently desirable, in Hogun’s hand.

Three heartbeats, four. The shadow of bloody violence passed, but their desire for the dagger did not wane.

“You’re right, Hogun,” Fandral said suddenly, breaking the tense silence. He raised his eyebrows suggestively at Volstagg. “They have not.”

Several things happened at once. Hogun whirled to face Volstagg at Fandral’s signal, expecting an attack from the huge man. But Volstagg, clearly confused, did not move. By the time Hogun realized Fandral’s trick, the swordsman had already pounced. Hogun let out a grunt of surprise and rage as Fandral hit him with his entire body weight, dragging them both to the floor. He wriggled like an eel to escape his grasp, but Fandral already had a hand wrapped around his wrist and was trying to beat the golden dagger out of his hand against the floor. Unwilling to concede victory to Fandral, Volstagg leaped into the fray.

Somewhere in the chaos, Volstagg’s great boot connected with the blade and the dagger spun out of Hogun’s hand. They all scrambled across the floor after it in a snarling tangle of limbs.

“No!”

“Get _off_ , you great-- _oof_!”

“Oy, that was-!”

Suddenly, the door opened. The three warriors froze. Footsteps sounded on the hard floor, and to their collective horror, a shiny black boot came down atop the golden dagger.

“Whatever _are_ you doing?” the Lady Sif asked, raising an eyebrow at the sight of the famed Warriors Three scuffling on the floor like a trio of overgrown boys.

Volstagg and Fandral exchanged sheepish looks. Hogun sighed and leaned back onto the floor. Sif watched, a smirk pulling at her lips, while they disentangled themselves and got to their feet.

“It was a competition…of sorts, Lady Sif,” Volstagg said. His face was red above his beard, but it was unclear if this was due to exertion or embarrassment. One of his eyes was beginning to blacken.

“Aye,” Hogun confirmed. His face was impassive, but his usually neat hair fell in a disheveled cloud around his head.

“You’re standing on the prize,” Fandral wheezed, because Volstagg had put a mighty elbow into his stomach during their tussle and he had not got his breath back yet. Volstagg and Hogun glared at him. He himself was having trouble keeping his eyes on Sif instead of the blade, gleaming tantalizingly from under her foot. He coughed once. “What are you doing here, Sif?”

Sif’s eyebrow crept still higher. “I heard the sounds of a struggle,” she said slowly, studying each of their faces. She reached down and picked up the golden dagger. “ _This_ is what you were fighting over? What is it?”

“It was left here in our chambers,” Volstagg said helpfully, over Fandral’s _shh!_ and Hogun’s glare.

Sif appeared dangerously close to smiling. “I see,” she said neutrally, but there was a spark of humor in her eyes. She examined the hilt; read the golden letters embossed into the red leather. One of her fingers traced over the lettering. “I could have assisted you before your…competition. This dagger was meant for me.”

“Wait a moment!” Volstagg cried.

“ _You?_ ” Hogun exclaimed.

Sif raised the dagger slightly, running a gloved finger along the dull edge of the blade. Three pairs of eyes followed the motion. She cocked her head slightly in understanding before she spoke. “It says this blade is meant for the greatest warrior. Obviously, that would be me.”

“What evidence have you, Lady Sif?” Fandral demanded.

“A warrior is the sum of her parts, is she not?” Sif said craftily. “I have your speed, Fandral. Your discipline, Hogun, well, I learned that as a young maid learning to embroider until the day came I could wield a sword. And Volstagg, I may not have your appetite, but I have your stomach for war.”

The three warriors gaped at her. They could not argue with what Sif had said, because they knew everything she said to be utterly true. She was patient and tireless in battle, faster than any of them on the draw.

“May I also remind you that I have beaten all of you in single combat this week?” Sif added, her face still carefully neutral.

Volstagg huffed good-naturedly. Hogun’s lips pressed into a fine line. The corner of Fandral’s mouth twitched with amusement; he knew when he had been outplayed.

It was as if a spell had been broken. The golden aura seemed to fade; the dagger now seemed small and insignificant now that none of the Warriors Three was holding it. They glanced at each other uncertainly, and with more than a little rue.

“My friends,” Fandral said, “I do believe we are due on the practice field. Late training and all.”

“You are correct,” Hogun confirmed quickly, even though there was no such plan and they all (including Sif) were aware of it. “Let us go.”

Volstagg merely shrugged. They filed past Sif to the door, collecting their respective weapons from the bench on their way out. She managed to contain her smile until the door had shut behind them.

“Must you always undo my hard work before I’ve had a chance to enjoy it?” an invisible silky voice drawled. It seemed emanate from the air, to come from both everywhere and nowhere at once.

“Since your _work_ seems to be making trouble,” Sif retorted. “Yes.”

Loki materialized out of thin air at her left side, smiling wolfishly. She didn’t even blink, accustomed as she was to his tricks. “I do my best.”

“If you wish to give me a gift, give me a gift,” Sif told him.

“Who said anything about giving you a gift?” Loki asked rhetorically. He snapped his fingers, and both he and the golden blade vanished.

Sif rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help smiling. No real harm had been done, although she had a sneaking suspicion Loki would have not have minded if the Warriors Three had done each other some real mischief.   She would enjoy telling Thor the story, though perhaps the Warriors Three might not.


End file.
